


A Momentary Rest

by lostsleeper (orionCipher)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death (only in #3), Diet Crack or Crack Lite. I'm not sure which better fits yet..., Mindless Drivel, successful suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-03-07
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4075555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionCipher/pseuds/lostsleeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a series of drabbles. Angsty, angsty drabbles. Totally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who's There?

**Author's Note:**

> These have only had minor edits since I originally posted them some years back. They're here to get me back into gear. The absurdly early post date's the original one ~~so I can continue hiding my shame.~~

It's not like nobody ever talks. Somewhere out there, there's this reassuring disembodied voice just chatting it up, screeching in mellow tones about the good of the world and the saviors who wrought justice for the whole fucked up imaginary sewer they live in. But that doesn't exactly change much does it?  


Cloud Strife lived paycheck to paycheck, raising kids that weren't his own with a girl he didn't love in the shadow of a town that Edge had become. He rode a bike and delivered goods to people he didn't know, from strangers he'd never met, and made less than minimum wage a week. His house was his shop, his garage his study, and his backyard an alley filled with refuse and soiled water. So when he answers the cell phone he never wanted, with the bill he dreads each month, and nods his head as the voice dictates some such nonsense as his own inability to press it's buttons and speak into it for long periods of time multiple times a week… he just keeps on fazing it out. Just keeps on….  


He needs out. An escape. Hope. Help. Hell. Something.  
Cloud needs a reason to keep moving. Keep breathing. To _not_ die.  


_To_ die.  


So he hangs up. He drives 'home' and parks the bike, and dropping his money and loot on the pavement before his house that is _her_ bar and _their_ everything. He unloads everything he doesn't need and some things he probably does and just stares as his hands are emptied, outstretched over a glittering pile of things sitting sadly on the gray. And just as soon as he has come, the smaller girl is there probing with words and eyes and curiously prodding the shine with her shoe and all he can think is it's done. The woman knows his PIN and has his safe combination. She earns enough for herself and the children. And with that he quits. They'll be fine. They'll be….  


Superb.  


So he leaves. Brings down his arms, turns around, remounts the metal beast and flees. The shrill shriek means nothing. The banter he'll avoid is for naught. He just… Leaves.  


And that's where Zack finds him, if Zack's still even there where he might've once been if he'd actually followed. But then wouldn't his mentor be there too? And even if no one's there, it's a place for the blond to let go and just _be_. No demands, no words; no need for anything, least of all tears. But that's all he's brought; all he bars. And if his dearest friend were somehow still there, that most certainly would be all it took before the comforting and safety and relief began. But it won't because he's not because Cloud watched him get shot down and then abandoned him, leaving him to die all alone.  


But is this really enough?  


This… this saving the world. How does doing that rectify the past; fix what he's broken, undo what he's done? Millions have died for knowing him, without knowing why or how.  
If someone different had gone - someone better - his true home would still be real, not some farce established by the soulless machinations of the worlds most domineering family. Zack Fair would still be alive. Going back further, someone better could have helped stop Genesis and prevented Angeal from breaking Zack. Three lives right there. Sephiroth wouldn't have snapped or would've been stopped. Four souls and a village. Avalanche wouldn't have blown all those reactors. Reno wouldn't have taken out the plate. Children corrupted. Sviets created. Deepground born. Millions hurt or killed or _changed ___somehow because of him.  


He'd caused a ripple. An dark and terrible ripple.  


Aerith would still be growing flowers. Dating Zack. Teasing the Turks.  


Everyone everywhere would do everything so differently. And yet here he was, sobbing in the dry summer heat on the desert ledge where he's planted the sword of his only real friend, gifted by _his_ mentor in a manner just as horrific. And here he was now planting his own. Right there. Right next to it. Firmly into the arid soil, cracking through rocks and clay until it wedged firmly into the Planet. Turning back to the machine he'd brought, Cloud landed a solid punch in the mirror closest to him, pulling back his bleeding gloved hand and plucking the largest sliver he could find from its metal frame.  


And so he sat. On the ground. Beside the memorial he felt no reason for clinging to, had no right to intrude upon, and certainly no right to sully as such. Gently, oh so gently, he peeled of his gloves, nesting them by the bike with a grave look and a somber, muted sigh.  
This was for the best. For everyone. He was… a hindrance. A nuisance. Causation for catastrophe.  
Disaster.  


He'd caused a ripple - an evil, horrible ripple. After all, isn't that what putrid little rocks do?  
And as he'd been shown, he cut deep, straight, perfect lines with varied weight down both arms and through his wrists, and when he finished, he began to wait. And wait. And wait. Until he didn't have to wait anymore.  


When Cloud Strife died, all that was found were his sword, planted firmly, his gloves, and Fenrir.  


When Cloud Strife died, no one was there to take him away.


	2. Silly Ficker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SOLDIERS need hobbies.

Angeal's fingers were trembling.  


Type type type type.  
Delete.  
Type type type….  


He groaned. Who the hell wrote these kinds of things?  
What bastard did this? Who would be _sick ___enough to even contemplate this?

…Well, apparently he was.  


His fingers clacked rapidly against the keyboard in the tiny office, the only light streaming from the flickering monitor. He'd been sitting there, wedged into the minuscule chair of some nameless ShinRa drone secretary since well before midnight, and yet here he was, still smooshed and tired as hell at 5:30 in the goddamned morning. 

SOLDIERS need sleep too!  


But Hewley kept that ~~rant~~ monologue internal, chomping angrily on his lower lip, cricking his neck in passing as he read and reread and re-reread his work. 

Done.  


Click, click, click, Submit.  


If anyone ever found out what he'd just done, Angeal Hewley would be, in the eyes of SOLDIER, branded a sick, sick fuck.  
A sick, sick, fanfic writing fuck. With impeccable taste in slash.  
Sliding out of the chair he arched his back, stre-e-e-e-etching out before shutting the system down and returning to his room.  
And all was right with the world.  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A requisite Canonical Death scene.

_I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to-_  


It was starting to rain; the cold outside seeping into his bones, weighing him down and dulling his senses. How sad was it that a SOLDIER First Class like him could fall so easily to a bunch of nameless Shin-Ra grunts?  


_That's not fair - they trained hard too. ___  


But he'd trained harder. He was gonna be a _Hero ___.  
Zack Fair was supposed to become...  
When Cloud trod off, lost and pained with tear-filled glassy eyes, he realized he could have used better words.  


_Too much for one kid ___  


He was just so... vacant. Everyone needs something to drive them.  


_At least until he's better. Can think. Can- ___  


Besides, Cloud didn't need to see this, didn't need his memories tainted with another death.  


Zack was supposed to die an old Hero, not a young SOLDIER on the run. He was destined for a comfortable passing surrounded by family and friends, not desperately clinging to a hallucination, alone in a soaken desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks still go out to Princess Turk, Chocobo Watcher, and Aeriths-Rain from FF.net. Without their support years back, I'd probably have dropped writing all together. And I promise the next update won't be so dark!


	5. Such a fowl way to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quickie based on the “THAT IS NOT HOW YOU HOLD A CHILD” prompt.

It wasn't too long after becoming SOLDIER that Zack took advantage of his newfound freedom and began roaming the Shinra compound at Junon. Storage sheds, classrooms, even maintenance shafts, nothing was safe from his curiosity. Until, that is, he found the Aviary. The Aviary – official unofficial nickname for the Enclosed Chocobo Stables – was a magical place packed full of majestic warbirds waiting to ride back into battle, maternal breeders, and even what Zack affectionately referred to as 'meat chocobos.'

The real prize however were the chicabos; melon-sized puff balls that knew no fear and could (sort of) fly. Just holding one of the wriggling bundles was soothing and more often than not Zack could be found stroking one or carrying one around in his free time at the Aviary.

And that was where he found himself – hands under the wing joints of a particularly boisterous chick, not a care in the world as he chatted up a fellow 3rd during a break.  
Something heavy fell with a meaty thwack. ”THAT'S NOT HOW YOU HOLD A BABY.”  
A blond, spiky headed boy stole the chick from his grip, eyes seething hate. If looks could kill, Zack figured he'd be a top Turk.  
"Uh... it's not a kid?” a nervous chuckle.”It's a chocob-”  
“She's a BABY Chocobo!” what could've been a cute face twisted up into a sneer, and the liberated fluffy ball scampered up into his scarf, warking cheerfully.

Zack took a moment to appraise the situation.  
The blonde trooper was shorter by a few inches, thick hair pointing in all directions very much like the bird he was holding.  
Crossing his arms Zack straightened. “Right. Listen, kid, the bird's fine; they're hearty like th-”  
“WARK!” The bird nearest them screeched, sharp beak clipping Zacks shoulder.  
“What the...”  
“KWEH!”

Another shrieked, this one striking hard against his companions helmet.”Fuck!”  
They were hissing now, low and ominous.

“Apologize.”  
He could swear the blonds hair was puffing up to match the raised crests of the birds.  
Adorable.  
“Kid, I-” the pens were rattling, chocobos bumping against the gates in agitation, their cries a deafening cacophony.  
“Apologize, and never do it again.”  
The shrimps baby blues were spewing venom and rusted nails, and cute as he may've been, the SOLDIERs were losing patience.  
“Grunt, I don't know what you think you're pulling, but it ends now,” the 3rd bit out.  
Zack nodded in agreement. Shinra took pride in maintaining it's ranks, and frankly the whole ordeal was freaking him out, green trooper or no.  
The boy simply snorted, turned around, and headed toward the exit, pausing by a long gray control panel.  
“I warned you,” he murmured, words lost in the noise, and the chocobos all froze.  
There was one horrible moment of absolute silence before he flipped the switches and let loose the birds of war.

 

“Fair,” the CO soothed, “You can be honest – here's no need to lie, you won't be punished – but I need to know why the Aviary looks like a back-alley butcher's shop, and why you and Webb are in intensive care.” Zack could've cried. The last thing he'd seen before the rainbow of feathered fiends descended had been the cutie trooper, finger pulling down an eyelid, tongue out, and chicabo seated comfortable in his spikes.  
“Zack?” the older man prompted.  
“Because I can't hold babies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First update since 2010 and I could still really use a beta...


End file.
